


A Grimm Reality

by He11sDomain



Category: Bleach
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Slow Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/He11sDomain/pseuds/He11sDomain
Summary: Ichigo is a sarcastic bartender at Rukongai. Grimmjow is a member of the yakuza group Pantera. They initially detest each other, however, as time goes on their mutual hatred molds into intrigue. Ichigo's past is out to destroy him, what will Grimmjow do about it? GrimmIchi. Dark themes ensue, violence and implied rape.
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Rukia, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 30
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**It looks like I'm back for more. At long last =D So glad to be here. ^_^**

**All my usual warnings I think. Violence, sexual abuse, mentions of rape. All that dark, painful nonsense.** **I also tinker around a bit more with POVs in this story. We begin with Ichigo, but later on it'll be fun reading it in Grimmjow's POV. :)**

**Ps- I'd also like to apologize for the absolute garbage story summary. But gosh dang it it's close enough!**

**XxXxXxXxX**

A lot of people have told me I'm oblivious. Oblivious to flirtation, sexual advances, and the fact my ass gets stared at enough to have its own television show. That doesn't faze me, and my typical response is a scowl and prompt "fuck you" to their face. My friends have come to accept me though, and even find it stupidly amusing. Me? Not so much, but whatever.

I work as a bartender at Rukongai, a club widely known for its unprejudiced attitude and tolerance toward all sexual orientations. It's not my first choice of work, but it keeps me busy and sometimes I enjoy it.

As I'm cleaning a wineglass I address the customer in front of me. "What can I get ya?"

His left front tooth is missing and his beard is scraggly and untamed. "Yeah, can I get a blow job please?"

"Sure, coming up." I gather the Irish cream and Kahlua and prepare the shot. This guy is one of my regulars. Terry. He's a middle-aged man who's balding prematurely and could rival a hippo in terms of girth. He's not one of my preferred customers, always talking incessantly and distracting me from other customers.

Renji, my coworker, abruptly elbows me in the ribs. "What the hell are ya doing Ichigo?"

I cock an eyebrow and scowl. "What do you mean? He wants a blow job."

He juts his chin to the fat customer. "Hey pal, were you referring to the drink?" He licks his lips and shakes his head no. "Didn't think so."

I blink as it sets in. Well, fuck.

I'm annoyed. "What the hell, old man? I'm not giving you shit."

"I guess I'll just have a Corona then."

"Get it yourself, fucktard." I'm pointing to the door and it's only then he realizes his tragic mistake.

With a defeated look Terry plops off his seat and leaves the bar. I furiously clean the shot glass I was using for the blow job shot, annoyed as hell. It's not the first time I've kicked someone out for being a disgusting jackass, but it still pisses me off people like that exist.

A memory threatens to surface, but I vehemently push it away. I'm not one to wallow in the past, and with my past I sure as hell don't want to.

The music is almost deafeningly loud, and I let myself get molded into the rhythm. Time passes and all of my conversations with customers are short, to the point, and utterly perfect. I don't have to form a bond, a flimsy friendship, or listen to any of their woes or why they want to drown themselves in alcohol.

It's nearing midnight and the crowd is still pretty thick. The bar seats are almost full, and the booths are gradually filling up. The dance floor is far from sparse and sometimes it's fun to watch drunk people fall on their asses.

I turn just in time to see another customer squeeze through the crowd and take a seat at the bar. I quickly finish a woman's long island tea before heading to the new guy, listening to the music as I go.

As I reach him I notice his hair is a unique blue, a few shades lighter than his equally blue eyes. His shoulders are wide and his entire expression screams "fuck you because I'm better than you." Fucking asshole.

"What do ya want?"

"Gimme some hard shit," he demands with a gravelly voice. He doesn't look at me, as though I don't exist.

I grab the most expensive liquor we have and pour it into a shot glass. I set it on the counter, and as I'm about to walk to another customer he downs it in a second and says, "Another."

Needy as hell, it seems. I refill his glass, and the cycle repeats. I give him three more shots before he finally waves a hand away.

"We startin' a tab?" I ask, because seriously this guy clearly needs some alcohol. He hands me his credit card and I take that as a yes.

I leave him to his own devices and address other clients. Time passes and I'm almost sort of enjoying myself. The music is good, work is distracting, I don't have to think.

Because we all know the depths of our own minds is the most morbid place to reside, isn't it?

"What can I get you?" I ask the probably-underage-but-I-don't-care-enough-to-check guy in front of me.

He looks nervous and out of place. "Strawberry daiquiri please, but light on the a-alcohol."

Goddamn. By his voice and choice of beverage I'd argue he hasn't even hit puberty. I don't rightly care, and I gather the ingredients. I sigh when I come up short.

"Renji, we're out of cherries! Go to the back and get some."

I turn to realize I'm talking to thin air. But a few seconds later he appears out of nowhere with a box of fresh cherries and sharp grin. "Sorry, I had to borrow them real quick."

"What the hell for?" His cheeks are red, he's breathing more heavily than usual, and his hair is disheveled.

Right when he opens his mouth I wave my hand. "No, nevermind. I retract my question."

Rukia, the person I would call my best friend (but wouldn't admit to anyone's face because fuck that), is also in a long-term relationship with Renji. They've been dating for 2 years, and I can honestly say I'm happy for them both. They're always so happy around each other, smiling like crazy. It almost feels weird knowing I can never be that happy.

Renji cackles, incredibly annoying and probably still on a sex high. "You're missing out bad Ichigo. Sex is fucking awesome."

"No thanks, I'm good." And I meant that with all the fucking sincerity I could damn well muster.

I take the cherries, worried some of them are covered in juices I'd rather not think about. I hope the underage kid didn't hear that conversation, and I quickly whip up his Strawberry daiquiri, put a cherry and tiny umbrella on the top, and give it to him.

"Thanks man," he says excitedly. It reminds me of how excited Renji was when he first told me about losing his virginity. Too fucking excited.

I move on. I notice the blue-haired man now talking animatedly with a woman sitting beside him. I address several more customers before I'm waved over by him, and I don't even try to hide my grimace.

He looks straight at me, which he refused to do before. "More liquor, bitch."

My grimace morphs into barely concealed rage. "Excuse me?"

He cackles, his grin as wide as his face. "Get me my drink, and get this lady here a martini, extra olives."

The woman is clinging to his arm. Her make-up is thick, cleavage prominent, and waist small.

It's fake people like these two that make me want to vomit all over their faces.

"Yeah yeah, coming up," I mutter, my small good vibes for the night gone. I pour his liquor and stir up her martini. The whole classic James Bond "shaken not stirred" is bullshit. I stir a martini like a goddamn professional.

"Thanks babe," she says, winking at me with long black eyelashes. Does she have some sort of twitch? That sucks.

A voice calls out, "Hey bartender, can I get a drink?"

Thank god. I quickly leave those two and address the muscular blond man who asked for me. "Sure, whatcha want?"

His grin is wide. "Are you on the menu?"

I hold in my frustration as best as I can. I pluck a menu off the counter, open it up, and shove it in his face. "You tell me. Do you see 'bartender' on the menu?"

He lowers the menu out of his face. His grin hasn't gone away, which pisses me off even more. "Now now, you don't need to be like that. I'm just interested in you, is all."

I stare into his eyes. "If you don't want a drink then I'm not interested in you at all."

Finally, little by little, his grin is fading. "You fuckin' serious man?" He vaguely gestures to his body. "You don't want this?"

"No. Now either order a drink or stop bothering me."

He snorts, slamming a hand on the countertop as he stands. "This ain't over," he mutters before sauntering away.

That's neither the first nor the last time I'll hear that, and I hear a cackle to my left. I turn my head and see the blue-haired man laughing at me. He clearly noticed the encounter. I shoot him the middle finger, then go back to making drinks and cleaning glasses. I haven't seen Renji around in awhile and I can only assume he's "distracted" again. Damn it Renji.

It takes way too long for the end of my shift to finally get here. The bar closes at 3am, and at 2:45 the crowd is dwindling. The blue-haired man left with the busty female a while back—they started making out at the bar and I'd honestly thought they'd have sex right there—the underage kid asked for my number, and Terry showed up at 1am to ask for another blow job, but "more politely."

A fucking _headache_ is what today was. But now, at long last, it's 3am. 3am and I'm fully allowed to shove people out of the doors if they overstay their welcome.

Renji and I clean up the bar area (with the help of Rukia) and at 3:30 I'm outside in the cold weather. Rukia kisses me on the cheek as a goodbye, and the two climb into his red car. Renji used to offer me a ride every shift we worked together, but he's learned my answer will always be no.

I walk home. My jeans have holes and my jacket is thin, but I don't let myself be dismayed. There is far worse to endure than a little cold.

**XxXxXxX**

Days bleed together, and the realm of redundancy is my sanctuary. I like routine. I like knowing what to expect. Monday is like Tuesday, Tuesday is like Wednesday, Wednesday is like Thursday. Everything has been perfect.

Until we get to Friday.

It's Friday night, and it is a shitty night indeed.

Since the first time I met the blue-haired man a few weeks ago, he's come to Rukongai a few more times to demand liquor, flirt shamelessly, and take women home. He is the stereotypical womanizer. Big muscles, big money, and outstandingly nonexistent humility. He throws money away like he has his own machine that generates Benjamins at a whim.

I know that's technically ideal for me because I'm dependent on clientele, but it still pisses me the fuck off.

Currently, his mouth is inside another woman's mouth, and from behind the bar I'm sure they're fondling each other in ways I have no desire knowing or witnessing.

To be quite honest I'm surprised I haven't kicked the bastard out yet. God knows I kick Terry out at the drop of a hat.

I ignore the homemade porn being made in the corner, and address a customer who had just walked up to the bar. "What can I get ya?"

"Bourbon and coke please."

"Gotcha."

As I'm making the beverage the blue-haired man detaches from the woman's tongue enough to shout at me, "Bartender! 3 more shots!"

My eyebrow twitches. I want to hit this blue man with a frying pan until his brain is so thoroughly scrambled he never comes to Rukongai again.

After the bourbon and coke I serve up the 3 shots of the expensive shit he drinks.

I toss them on the counter. "Here. Now chill the fuck out I ain't your maid."

"Don' tell me wha' ta do." He downs the shots, sharing none of them with the woman. "Clos' me out."

This man has always shown to have an astoundingly high tolerance for alcohol. He has a slur, and I'm not expecting it. He drank more than I realized tonight.

"Yeah," I nod and cash him out. I hate the bastard, but I don't want him to crash and die.

The nameless female on his shoulder looks annoyed as she is having to balance him as he stands. I barely smirk. She clearly didn't sign up for babysitting tonight. But, at least that eases my consciousness a bit.

They finally stumble out and the night goes on.

**XxXxXxX**

The blue-haired man is gone, the night is going well, and it's finally closing time. By 3:30am I have Rukongai cleaned up, and I take the master key and lock the bar behind me.

I turn. And, to my utter shock, I find the blue-haired bastard passed out in the nearby alleyway. His clothes are rumbled, his hair in disarray, and he is so still part of me wonders if he's dead.

I'm half-tempted to leave him there, but my feet with a mind of their own walk toward the man. I bend down and jab a finger into his sternum.

"Hey. Buddy, wake up." His eyelids twitch and I jab again. "It's too goddamn cold to stay here, come on." Fuck. I thought that random chick was going to take him home? Looks like she wasn't feeling too generous if this is the state she left him in.

"D-Don't tell me what to do ya c-cock sucking son of a—son of a…" His head rolls and a deep snore erupts from his throat.

Motherfucking god. Are you kidding me?

A harsh gust of wind passes through the alley, and from head to toe I'm shivering. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this drunkard? I don't know where he lives. If I leave him here I don't even know what'll happen to him. Frostbite? Impending pneumonia and death? Fuck.

Finally the thought to take him to my place crosses my mind.

My cursing erupts tenfold, but I grab him by the waist and heave him up. He's a heavy son of a bitch and I almost completely drop him to the ground. Even fast asleep he seems to sense being jostled around, and he tosses an arm over my shoulder.

I grab onto it for the life of me, and with the other hand on his waist I take him to my apartment. He's no longer snoring and his feet are stumbling on the sidewalk. He's awake, but I can easily say incoherent.

"W-Where the fuck…where t-the fuck are w-we goin'?"

"Don't worry about it. You won't remember in the morning."

"I a-ain't into guys, dick."

My eye twitches. "Cool, that makes two of us."

"T-Then why the hell are ya holding me l-like I'm ur damn lover?"

"If I don't you'll fall twat."

As if to prove me wrong he takes his arm from around my shoulder, takes two steps, then falls to the floor.

"Fucking idiot," I mutter as I help him back to his feet.

It takes an hour to get to my building and up the stairs to my apartment. When we get there I guide him into the bedroom and immediately plop him onto the bed. He starts snoring the second his head hits the pillow.

I pull off his sleek black shoes (goddamn they're shiny), then yank the sheets out from under him and place them onto his body. Then I turn off the light and shut the door.

I check the time, almost 5am. I don't bother changing clothes as I walk into the small living room, lay down on the sofa, and pass the fuck out.

****

XxXxXxX

I'm in the kitchen brewing coffee when I hear him stumble out of the bed. A loud crash resonates through the small apartment, and I think to myself how nice it'd be if it results in a concussion.

But alas, a few moments pass and he drudges past the doorframe and into the small kitchen. He blinks at me, clearly confused. He stares at me for a long second. "…Don't tell me I fucked you."

I don't blush, but my eyes widen and I quickly turn away. "Hell no. Fucking dumb assumption," I mutter. The coffee is brewed and I pour the hot liquid into two cups. "I found you passed out in an alley like a fucking drunkard. Took you back to my apartment so you wouldn't freeze to death." And if I'm starting to regret my decision, well that's my own damn problem.

He sticks a hand down his pants and scratches like it's the most natural thing in the world. With the other hand he takes a coffee cup and gulps down half its contents.

He sets the cup down with a loud thud. "Tastes like shit." But that doesn't stop him from taking another gulp.

"Fuck you. If you don't like it don't drink it."

He's looking around at the apartment. I don't even think he heard me. "Your place looks like shit, too. Would've never guessed someone could live in a shithole like this." He backs up and peeks his head back into the bedroom. He walks back to the kitchen and points his thumb toward the bedroom. "Can you even get laid on such a tiny bed? No room for fucking whatsoever."

I can feel myself growing red with anger, among other emotions. Seriously? I put in the effort to get this asshole out of the cold, let him sleep on my bed, and the first thing his conscious ass brings up is dissing my living arrangements?

Why are people so obsessed with sex? Why does my bed have to be judged on how well two naked bodies can roll and writhe together? Why can't it be judged on its mattress, the coils, the sturdiness of the frame?

Why is everything revolved around _sex?_

"Listen buddy, you can be more appreciative that I saved your sorry ass, or you can leave. There's the door." I point to the exit.

But he's already moving around, only half listening to me. The kitchen and living room are one room, and he's walking around and looking at the small dining table, sparse furniture, and a fake plant in the corner that the previous resident left behind.

"Goddamn kid…you really live here?" He seems astonished. I don't hear pity in his voice though, which I appreciate more than I care to admit.

"Yes. I _actually_ live here. Are you done insulting my apartment?"

"I have a few more on the tip of my tongue actually—"

I immediately ignore him. I need a cigarette.

Just as that thought runs through my head the blue-haired man pops a cig into his mouth and lights it. I walk up to him, grab one from his pack, and take his lighter.

It doesn't bother him at all like I thought it would, and he lets me light my (his) cigarette. I inhale deeply, taking in the nicotine and tar and everything that doesn't belong in my body. It feels like heaven.

"I'm hungry. Make me somethin'."

I huff, "I ain't making shit for you."

"What do you usually eat for breakfast?"

The answer is nothing, so instead I take him by the shoulder and lead him toward the door. "Nice chatting, it was a grand time, but you gotta go now."

The muscles under my palm are bulging with strength. I have a feeling I'm pushing him only because he's letting me.

I get him out the door just in time for my neighbor Ms. Etta to see us. She's an older woman obsessed with the notion of me having people "over." She's a pervert if I've ever seen one. Which I have. Lots.

"Oooo, Ichi, did you have a boy spend the night? And he's handsome like you too. Beautiful combination." She's staring at us like we were models in the porn magazine she flipped through last week.

"No Ms. Etta, we were just having some tea. We have to go now."

The blue-haired man snorts around his cig. "The hell we were. I wasn't given any t—"

With a hard shove I push him forward, and he grunts but allows it. We leave Ms. Etta and go down the stairs. Every other step there's a creak in the wood.

The stairs lead outside and he blinks at his surroundings.

"Where the hell are we?"

I internally laugh. The poor side. He ain't used to it.

I inhale through my cigarette. "Not a place someone like you would be familiar with." His expensive shirt, sleek black pants, designer shoes. Spending hundreds of dollars in a single night on alcohol. Yeah, he definitely doesn't belong here. He snorts but says nothing.

"Listen, I gotta get ready for work. Good luck finding your way." And if I didn't _actually_ mean good luck, I mean…who really cares?

I leave him on the sidewalk and climb back up the stairs. I absently hope I don't see him again.

**XxXxXxX**

**Chapter 1 complete! :D Semi-fun idea? It's a gradual GrimmIchi build but I think it's worth it. ^_^ Additionally, have no fear! I should be updating once a week. The majority of it is pre-written, so I promise I won't go completely MIA. For the MOST part it's ready and waiting. ;)**

**Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Commence!**

**Specific chapter warnings: violence and sexual assault.**

****

**XxXxXxX**

The fucker left his jacket at my apartment. The fucker.

Left his _jacket._

At my _apartment._

So now instead of hoping I never see him, I'm _waiting_ for him to walk through the doors of Rukongai so I can give it to him and free myself of this burden. I refuse to keep this jacket. I don't owe favors to anyone, ever, and I'm sure as hell not starting now.

It's stashed beneath the countertops as I mill about and prepare drinks for my customers. Most of them are regulars, but every night there's always a few new ones. I'm absently swaying to the loud rock music overhead as I'm preparing four tequila shots for a booth of women in the corner.

I put them on a tray and walk around the bar. I don’t enjoy being outside the bar’s protective barrier, so I try to make it quick.

"Here ya go," I say as I reach the table, setting their drinks in front of them.

One's a long-haired brunette and she's staring at me. "You're awfully cute." She lightly grabs the bulge of my bicep. How weird. "You single?"

I lie easily. "Nope."

"Damn it," I hear her mutter as I walk away.

Renji's not on shift today and instead I work alongside Gin. Gin is another full-time bartender at Rukongai. I despise him and his complete lack of personal space. He's run into my backside enough times—either with his own ass or his hand—for me to get the impression it's not by accident. And I'm an oblivious motherfucker, if _I_ notice he's being a fucking creep, then he's definitely being a fucking creep.

Terry is back and I try not to be annoyed by his previous "blow job" antics. "Whatcha want Terry?"

"A red headed slut please."

I nod, grabbing the jager, cranberry juice, and peach schnapps.

I'm halfway through making the drink when the mist of ignorance fades away, and the title of the drink finally hits me.

I slam the shot glass down. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me Terry?"

"P-Please, I'll pay, just—" I immediately point to the door, and he dejectedly slides off his barstool and walks out the exit. Fucking hell.

Just as Terry exits the blue-haired man enters, fucking _finally_. He takes the seat Terry was at and grunts a greeting. "I need the hardest shit you got." He pauses to look at the ingredients I have out and prepared in front of me. "Are you making a red-headed s—"

"I have your jacket," I interrupt immediately. I grab it from underneath the countertops and toss it into his chest.

"Oh. Huh." It's like he didn't even miss it, didn't even realize it was gone. Of course.

I suddenly feel pressure on my ass, and it pushes me forward. I barely gasp as I turn to see Gin's hand on my ass, the fingers squeezing.

"Ah, sorry there Ichi. I just needed ta get around ya. 'Scuse me."

_Fucking_ hell.

Gin passes through, and I try not to scream from the violation.

The blue-haired man cackles loudly. "Ah haha, that guy's trying to court ya. That's fucking hilarious."

I scoff, pissed but defensive. "He's not courting me asshole. He's just being like you, an _asshole_."

"I've been here two minutes and even I know he wants to fuck ya."

I twitch, and some of the fight leaves me. I mutter, "He doesn't want to fuck me…" Before he can respond I leave him to grab the same liquor I served him last time. Expensive shit, it'll rack up the bill nicely.

He swallows the shot easily and slams the glass onto the countertop. "Another."

I pour another. "If you end up as shitfaced as last time I'm going to leave your sorry ass in the alleyway."

The alcohol slides down his throat and again the glass is on the countertop. "That was a bad day. Couldn't help it. Another."

"You can always help it."

"Nah."

My scowl deepens and I pour him another. Then I move on to serve other customers. I've given him his jacket, I am freed from my obligation. Besides serving him drinks, I'm done with him.

It annoys me because time and time again he's proven he's _fake_. Every female he's picked up is big-racked, small-brained, and heavily covered in make-up. There's no substance. He only picks up the women who seem like they'd be the best in bed. It's fucking stupid and I hate it.

Then a nostalgic face walks into the bar, and part of me stops what I'm doing.

He's cut his hair since the last time he visited. He comes once, maybe twice a month. He was an average-looking, middle aged man who used to have a very large debt.

He was a catalyst that ruined my life, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But…he doesn't—and can't—even remember it.

He walks into this bar not even knowing _why_ he's walking into this bar. He's drawn to me because of memories his brain can't grasp.

Brain damage is a weird, weird thing.

He sits at the bar, and it's annoyingly right beside the blue-haired man. The goddamn streak of bad luck I have is unreal.

The blue-haired man has a woman in his lap, and he pays no attention to it.

The average man asks me, "What is your name?" He is staring at me with mild fascination.

He asked me that the last time he came here. I need to fidget with something, I need to do something with my hands. I take a wineglass from an older woman at the bar. It's not even empty, and she probably wasn't done drinking it. But I promptly empty the glass and start cleaning it.

"You can just call me 'bartender.' What'll ya have?"

He asks earnestly, "Have we met before?"

"Yeah, seeing as how you've come to this bar before." I try to make him feel dumb for even asking. Maybe then he'll _stop asking._

He is staring at me though, as if I am an amazing specimen that travelled from another planet to live in this sack-of-shit Earth, _just_ to grace him with my presence.

He slowly reaches out his hand, as if wanting to touch me. "I could swear we've met before. You…You are absolutely beautiful."

The woman in Bluebird's lap had been making him sip on her gimlet, and Bluebird just spit the drink out of his mouth and onto the woman's face. She shrieks and he's apologizing, but I feel confident he's listening in now. His curiosity is piqued. Goddamn fucker.

I slap the man's hand away that is clearly trying to hold my face. "Stop being weird. Are you going to buy a drink or not?"

He stammers, voice and expression uncertain. "I…I have so many questions. Is it possible…we could m-meet for dinner, or something?" He is clearly so begging, his expression screaming _please!_

But fuck…I can't. Him hearing the truth would break his delicate little fucking heart. Not only that, what's in the past is in the past. I have no desire to re-live it, or re-tell it.

My voice is stern, even if it hurts me a bit to do this to him. "Order a drink or leave."

He looks dejected, and finally he slumps off the barstool and heads toward the exit. He glances back at me one more time, eyes big and pitiful, and then walks out the door.

I had been expecting fucking Bluebird to respond, and once the door shuts he immediately cackles. He is watching me with an expression I can't quite interpret. "Dammnnn Strawberry, you were merciless."

I glare at him. The woman in Bluebird's lap is still wiping at her face, trying to remove the gin and lime juice on her face. It seems like he has forgotten about that.

"My name isn't Strawberry. Also fuck off."

A few moments ago I had taken away another woman's half-full glass of wine, and on the house I make her another glass. I hand it to her with an apologetic look. Her nose upturns at me, but she takes the glass, and I take it as a victory.

Bluebird grins. "Dating older men could be a good look for ya. Ya never know, he might be loaded."

I roll my eyes. Funnily enough, he had been the opposite.

Gin rolls up from around the bar, and he sidles up too close for my liking. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and addresses Bluebird, "Our poor Ichi says 'no' _way_ too often." He now looks to me, and our faces are inches apart. "Maybe one day he'll learn to say 'yes' to _me."_

His face gets closer and I grit my teeth, slamming my elbow into his abdomen. He doubles over, wheezing and coughing from the blow. Bluebird doesn't cackle like I thought he would, which I appreciate. On the contrary his eyebrows are downturned and he seems…maybe upset? Annoyed? That wouldn't make sense.

I say snarkily, "Y'all can both fuck off. I'm gonna continue doing my job if that's cool with y'all."

I do not wait for a response. I continue working as promised, and 2 hours later I see Bluebird leaving with the woman who had been sitting on his lap. Looks like she forgave him for the spilled gimlet.

"Ya jealous Ichi?" A slimy voice asks behind me.

I don't need to turn around to know it's Gin. Looks like he's also forgiven me for the elbow jab. I grab a wet rag and clean off the countertop. "Nah. More like disgusted."

"Ah." A pause, then a curious, "Are ya straight?"

"No."

"Are ya gay?" He sounds…hopeful?

I finish cleaning the countertop. I turn to face Gin, and I promptly place the dirty rag in his hands. "No." I walk away.

**XxXxXxX**

The next time I see the blue-haired man it's late afternoon on a weekday, and there's few customers to distract myself with. I hate working this part of the shift because it doesn't keep me busy, it doesn't keep my _mind_ busy.

Sometimes it likes to wander.

"Ya know every time I come to this place you're here." He sits on a stool in front of me.

I'm currently cleaning a shot glass. "I work a lot," I say simply. I pick up as many shifts as my boss Kariya lets me.

It's weird. With all the days I work it's rare to see the blue-haired man, but he's left an odd impression on me.

A negative impression for the most part.

He taps the countertop. "The usual."

Does he ever get tired of spending hundreds of dollars on expensive liquor? Jesus.

But regardless I pull it out and fix him his shot. He downs it and without even waiting I refill it for him. He downs that one too.

It's almost impressive how much alcohol he drinks. If it hadn't been for that night I found him in the alleyway I'd think he had an insane amount of tolerance.

"Ya ever drink Strawberry?"

My eye twitches at the stupid name. "No."

He cackles. "So ya smoke but don't drink? Weird."

No, it's not weird. Drinking impairs judgment, coordination. If I had to defend myself I'd lose because I'd be too weak to win.

"Do you ever get tired of being an alcoholic?"

He shines a bright grin at me. "Nah, it's fun. You ever get tired of random guys wanting to bang ya?"

I grit my teeth. He's seen more than one encounter of creeps hitting on me. Terry, Gin, and the man from my past. Embarrassing.

"I've been tired of it since Day 1." I'm cleaning the bar counter, but it's just for something to do. I had already cleaned it before Bluebird got here. I retort, "You get tired of taking home nameless bimbos?"

He laughs. "Sometimes, but not often. It's a good distraction from the real world." He gestures to his shot glass. "Just like alcohol."

I nod. Even if I don't partake myself, I can understand that. Because this world is so cruel, and reality is so fucking harsh. If even for a moment you could escape it…well, I guess I can't hate him for trying to.

That makes me wonder what exactly he's trying to escape from.

We all have our demons.

He points to his shot glass, "Another."

I pour him another shot. He doesn't put it to his lips yet. He's holding the glass, swirling the liquid around. It looks like he's pondering something.

I wait for him to speak and start cleaning another shot glass. After a few more moments he does. "This is gonna sound random as fuck. But a colleague of mine told me…that you're a good lay." He shrugs. "I don't like cock, but he said he's interested in seeing you again. Maybe you're interested?"

Time stops, and I can feel my breath catch in my throat. The shot glass I was cleaning is now shattered on the floor. The crash is deafening, and rivals the loudness of the overhead music. The once relaxed atmosphere is now threatening and sinister, and I feel chilled to the bone. I can feel the guy's stare.

Someone he knows…said I'm…Who said that? Who _said that?_

Then I realize where I am, that I'm still in public, and I quickly bend down to pick up the pieces.

"What the hell kid, don't use your hands." The blue-haired man is leaning over the counter watching me, but I don't care.

"I'm f-fine." My voice sounds shaky even to me, and I hate it.

As I'm picking up the pieces my mind is frantic and falling apart. He knows someone I used to fuck. What does this mean? Who was it?

I left that life, I left everything behind me so long ago. It’s only been two years since I fucking _escaped_ from those disgusting bastards. And, now…it’s coming back to haunt me?

I throw the big pieces of glass in the trash can beneath the bar. "W-Who's this friend you're talking about?"

"Yammy..." I thought he'd say more but he's clearly distracted, his eyes watching me to make sure I don't cut myself on the shards of glass.

Fuck. I don't know who he's talking about at all. Why the fuck did I even ask? I _rarely_ knew my clients' names. I don’t know the other mens’ names either. Even if they had addressed each other in front of me, how the fuck am I supposed to remember? It was too _much_.

Fuck. _This_ is too much.

“What the fuck is going on kid?"

I clear my throat. I try to swallow but it feels like there's a lump of clay on my pharynx.

"Does your friend l-live…around here? Like nearby?"

He shrugs and almost seems frustrated, as though he doesn't at all understand why it's relevant right now. Like I should be focused on something more important right now…

"He's comin' over here soon to grab a drink with me. Why does it matter?"

This man…this man who fucked me…is…

I grab a broom and with shaky hands I sweep up the small pieces of glass. If I stay, I'm dead. Sanity gone. Straightjacket locked and sealed in place.

Renji. I can call Renji to tell him to finish my shift. I'm always doing favors for him and taking his, he can finally pay me back. I could say there was an emergency. But what emergency? My cat is sick? I don't have pets. Flooded water in the apartment? It hasn't rained in weeks, and I'm on the second floor. _Oh,_ I could fake a broken foot. Limp around for the next few days to really sell the lie.

"Kid…you look like death. What the fuck?"

My eyes flash back to the blue-haired man, having completely forgotten he was there. His eyebrows are scrunched downward, and to my surprise he appears genuinely concerned.

It's ill-placed concern nonetheless.

"I'm fine, dickwad," but it doesn't have the anger behind it. It just has _fear._ I avoid his gaze as I sweep up the remaining broken pieces.

I can feel my voice crack, but I push through as if it means nothing. "So uh…when's he coming?"

"What?"

"Your friend. W-When's he coming?"

He reluctantly pulls back his jacket sleeve to look at the gold Rolex on his wrist. "Wow it's later than I thought. Anytime now I'd say."

"Ah..." I suddenly put the broom away. "Is that so…" I check the clock on the wall. 4:30pm. My heart is pounding against my chest. It's hard to breathe. I can't breathe.

I glance at the blue-haired man as I walk away. "I'll be right back."

A lie. Twenty minutes later Renji shows up at Rukongai to cover my shift, and I escape like the coward I am.

**XxXxXxX**

I feel like a fucking idiot. I got off work hours before I was supposed to, all because I was a pussy-ass bitch that got too scared to function properly.

I'm laying on top of the sheets of my bed wondering what to do now. It's 6pm, too goddamn early. I shouldn't be home, I shouldn't be alone. I don't want to think…

But it scares me. This means whoever that guy was, _Yammy,_ knew to expect me at Rukongai. Maybe Bluebird has told him I'm a bartender. Is it even safe to work anymore?

I jump off the bed and turn the radio on, blasting music. I focus on the song, the lyrics. The singer's words are meaningless and stupid but I cling to them like an anchor. I need them to keep me afloat, to keep me sane.

There's a loud knock on my door that filters through the music. My nerves are frayed, and I grab my bat as I walk to the door.

I open it to find Rukia standing there, eyes filled with worry. She sees the bat in my hand, and she probably has a good idea what's on my mind right now.

Because Rukia is the only person on earth who knows my story.

"Hey Rukia," I say, trying to smile instead of scowl. I don't want her to worry. She needs to recognize I'm fine. Maybe it's a lie, maybe I'm not now, but I _will_ be. I just need a little time.

She walks into my apartment and I close the door behind her. I turn off the radio then shuffle aimlessly through the kitchen, tidying towels and moving around silverware. I know why she's here, and like a child I'm trying to hide.

"Listen, Ichigo…"

I point to the random assortment of magnets and stickers on my fridge. "Do you think this magnet of a purple hippo is too big? Renji says it looks weird but I think it adds a nice touch." I move the hippo to the side. "I think I like him better angled this way."

"Why did you leave work today?" Huh, she completely disregarded me. Smart on her part.

She's sitting on the counter, her feet dangling. "Ichigo…" Her voice is sad, and I look at her. She beckons me over. I stand in front of her legs and she rests her palms on my shoulders. "Please…you don't have to be strong all the time."

Her words sink in, but I grimace. I disagree. If I'm not strong, then that makes me weak, doesn't it? Vulnerable. I would be left defenseless to the elements, exposed to the pain. I can't be that way, not again.

"Now tell me," her voice is fiery, obstinate. "What happened?"

I sigh lightly. On a whim I tell her the events of the day.

**XxXxXxX**

Rukia helped me sift through my emotions better than I thought she would. She did most of the talking, but a lot of what she had to say was valid. As far as we knew Bluebird's friend hadn't even seen me, could be completely mistaking me for someone else. Talking to her had been very reassuring.

She gave me things to think about, and the hug she smothered me with when she left was so strong it brought a small smile to my face. I can never let myself forget how much Rukia cares about me.

"Goodbye Ichigo! Be safe!" She waves with a big smile.

"I know I know," I mutter amusingly. "Bye Rukia." I close the door behind her. When I turn to face my apartment it's daunting. I don't want to be alone. I hate being alone.

I go into my bedroom and turn the radio on to max volume. I listen to the rhythm, the beat, the words. I drown myself in the music, wishing I could forget and knowing that I can't.

**XxXxXxX**

Today’s shift was long, too long. I worked alongside Gin, and with the constant innuendos and physical harassments there were many times I thought I would fly off the handle and punch him in the throat. For my dinner break I just walked outside and smoked three cigarettes, one after the other. It didn’t release the amount of tension I had hoped.

But, I’m at last leaving Rukongai. The early morning doesn’t feel as chilly as previous days, which I find both good and bad. The cold was brutal, but it was also _amazingly_ distracting.

Instead of listening to my teeth chatter I allow my mind to wander. I dwell on the past, what could’ve been. I think about all the years I lost, I think about the darkest periods of my life. My life turned around when Renji got me a job at Rukongai, and I’ve been working there almost two years now. Yeah, my life’s still pretty shitty, but I’d like to think I’ve turned it around. I live in an apartment, with a fucking _roof,_ and I’m not whoring myself out for money.

The next second feels like it’s in slow-motion then set on repeat. A hand is gripping my arm and my mind is instantly thrown back to reality. Before I can react I’m tossed against the wall like I’m nothing, and my chest and forehead collide with the brick.

“We been waitin’ for you, Ichi-boy.”

_Ichi-boy? No…_

I remain standing from the blow, but barely. Blood drops on my eyelid but I don’t care. I turn to view two men, and the sight of their faces burns in my memory and shatters my insides. These two were part of my past. They…they…they _hurt_ me.

What the fuck do they want with me _now?_

I get off the wall, but I already feel trapped. Why, _why_ did I let my guard down? I’m so _stupid_.

One of them is tall and thin, his long black hair obscuring one eye. The other is tan, and large with an even larger chin. I remember one time we were fucking—during one of the few instances I wasn’t blindfolded—and I asked if his chin would have babies soon, because I wanted to go to the baby shower.

The resulting blows were painful and shattered part of my knee, but it had been so fucking worth it.

The thinner one is cackling. “We had really missed ya, Ichi-boy. Long time no see.”

I try to seem strong even though I’m scared shitless. I spit out, “As great as it is to see y’all’s pretty faces again, mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

The large one goes on to talk about how he’s going to fuck me, finally claim me as his own again, but I’m not listening. My mind is in hyperdrive looking for a way out. I’m surveying my surroundings and looking for anything I can use to my advantage. I also realize this is the alleyway I found the drunk blue-haired man.

I tune back to the scene in front of me just as the larger man stops talking, and instead pulls out brass knuckles. I suddenly realize…this will be a lot harder than I thought.

He slips them onto both his fists, and within moments we’re clashing. I put more focus on Chin-Ups because of his blatant advantage, and I do my best to dodge blows and land my own. The lanky bastard is trying to get around me, to sandwich me between the two.

My fist pummels through Chin-Up’s cheek and I follow-up with an immediate uppercut from the other side. As strong as I am, I’m fucking freaked it doesn’t hurt him as much as I hoped it would.

He spits on the ground. “That’s it Ichi-boy, now I’m really gonna show ya.” He swings his fists at me, and I dodge two brass knuckles before one scrapes my abdomen. It’s not a direct hit, but it’s enough to make me stumble. And that’s all they need isn’t it?

Before I can recover the tall skinny man’s behind me and has my arms behind my back, immobilizing me. I lash out with my feet as Chin-ups approaches, and he punches me in the stomach so hard I think the fist is going to travel through my back. I spit up blood.

Chin-ups is smiling proudly. My vision blurs. “Ahhh. That was fun Ichi-boy. Thank ya for the fun.” He takes off the brass knuckles, then punches me in the jaw. “Don’t want to hurt your pretty face too much, do I?” He punches the same jaw again. I’m breathing hard, I can’t defend myself. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck!_

“W-What do you sick bastards want?” I know the answer, I know it.

I know it even more when chubby hands are suddenly frantic on my waist, unsnapping my jeans button and yanking the zipper down. “I wanna fuck ya Ichi-boy, I wanna fuck ya!” His hands are shaking with excitement, and I want to throw up.

Adrenaline rushes through me, and I somehow land a foot in his ugly face. It was unexpected and I almost get my hopes up. He looks so angry, _furious._ Maybe he’ll just beat on me with his brass knuckles until I die. 

He punches me in the gut once, twice, three times. I cough up more blood, and he grabs my chin and forces my head up. His gaze is on my lips. “Oh boy…” A thumb runs over my bottom lip. He seems mesmerized. “I can’t stay mad at ya, you’re so goddamn pretty. I want to mark ya as my own.”

He plants a messy kiss on my lips, and if he’d stuck his tongue down my throat I would’ve bitten it off. As it is though, I’m a coward, and weak. My vision is going in and out, blood is still smeared in one of my eyes, my legs are shaky, and if this lanky bastard wasn’t holding me up I would be painting the ground.

The kiss travels to my bruised jaw and down to the crook of my neck. Suddenly sharp pain bursts through me and I’m screaming. 

His teeth are embedded into my neck, sucking on the wound, sucking away my life. I can feel blood dripping down my collarbone, and I barely notice a hand now down my pants stroking me.

His teeth finally unlatch from me, and when he pulls away I notice the crazed, excited, lustful look in his eyes. I used to see it a lot when I worked the streets. He licks the blood painted along his teeth, and his smile widens.

The man behind me speaks. “Aight, you’ve had your fun. Now lemme fuck him.”

Chin-ups smile is gone, and he isn’t looking at me. I still feel the groping hand though, and it squeezes tighter. I moan. “Da fuck? I’m gonna fuck him first.”

“Hell no, ya said we’d go by rank. So _I_ fuck him first.”

“That’s a fuckin’ stupid idea and you know it. This was _my_ goddamn idea Nnoitra.”

“You fucking cunt, there’s no _way_ —”

The man called Nnoitra stops talking, and suddenly both are utterly silent. Or maybe I lost my hearing. Maybe I have permanent damage. Maybe this is what happens just before you die.

But then I notice what they were noticing. There’s someone near the entrance to the alleyway. I hear footsteps.

It sounds like the person is on the phone. The voice speaking is deep, "Hold on, there’s some punks around the corner I need to take care of. I'll call ya back."

The voice is vaguely familiar, but then again what the hell do I know? Did this random person hear us?

The lanky guy who’s holding me up suddenly drops me like I’m a skin infection. "Shit, that's Grimmjow!"

I land hard on my knees, barely catching myself from faceplanting. My hand immediately holds pressure on my neck. I can feel the spots individual teeth had sunk in.

My head lolls. I let my body fall, and my elbows are barely holding me up. I lift my head just enough to watch the two scurry away, and I wonder if I should be worried. If the fish all swim away, is that an indication there’s a shark nearby?

Footsteps walk in my direction, from the direction of the new person. Those footsteps soon go from walking to sprinting, and in an instant the voice is near my ear. “What the hell, kid! What happened?”

With my own blood dripping into my eye I can’t see a damn thing out of it, but I look up and my hazy vision is met with a bright bright blue. I recognize that blue.

His blue hair has a few strands out of place, and his eyes are deep with emotion. Anger. Worry. Fuck I don’t need people saving me.

I haven’t said anything, and he continues, “I haven’t seen you for a goddamn week and when I do you’re knee-deep in shit.”

Last time I’d seen him I’d been fleeing from his friend “Yammy.”

But here we are. Karma’s a bitch.

Hell, Karma’s the bitch that puts shards of metal in your toothpaste right before you brush your teeth.

Blood dribbles from my mouth and I spit it onto the ground.

My fly is unzipped. I don’t want him to see it. I don’t want to give him any ideas of what almost happened tonight.

“G-Go away.” I’m pretty much laid out on the floor on my stomach, which is making my stomach scream in disapproval. But the thought of standing makes me want to slit my own throat. I don’t think I’ll be heading home tonight.

“Hell no. Lemme get you up.” His hand reaches for me and I smack it. Suddenly an incentive to stand and get away from this guy does force me to my feet, and my legs are shaky and weak. The blue-haired man grabs my shoulders to stabilize me. I don’t push them away, but only because I don’t have the strength.

“I’m fine damn it. Now back off.”

I had been expecting a retort. When only silence is my answer I look at his eyes. Only to find him looking at my unzipped jeans.

His eyes immediately jump to meet mine. “Did they…?” For the barest second his gaze lands on my neck. Based on his expression that seems to confirm his suspicions.

Bile crawls up my throat. I find the strength somewhere in me to push his arms away. I walk backwards and am eternally thankful to hit a wall, and I lean the majority of my weight on it. “F-Fuck no. I was just t-takin’ a piss when they jumped me. Then one of the bastards nicked me with a knife.” Utter lies, it was weird how natural it felt. But, I had to do it. If anyone knew that I was almost…

I fumble with the button of my jeans. My hands are shaking, and one of them is drenched in blood, and the button keeps slipping through my fingers. I can’t get a good grip. I can’t cover this shameful body.

Large hands appear in my periphery, and my hands still.

“Let me help you, kid,” the blue-haired man murmurs. His voice still has that gruffness, but there is an underlying softness I don’t expect. I almost want to lean into it.

I’m too tired to try anymore. I let him button and zip my jeans as though I’m an arthritic 4-year-old who can’t dress himself. Right when he’s done I kick off the wall and head toward my apartment, trying to get as far away from him as possible. I hold tight pressure on my stomach, as if I don’t keep it together all my intestines will spill out.

I make it three steps before he’s stepping in front of me. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Home, asshole. Now move.”

“You need a hospital.”

“I absolutely do not.” Trust a bunch of strangers to care for me? No. I don’t trust anyone anymore.

“Then you can come to my place and I’ll patch you up.”

Go home with a stranger to a stranger’s home? I hiss, “Fuck no.”

He looks angry, more than angry. He grips the shirt on my collar and his face is inches from mine. A multitude of emotions are swirling in his deep, glaringly blue orbs. “Listen kid, I _am_ going to help you and I _am_ going to do it regardless of your approval. Now, tell me what to do.”

A growl gets caught in my throat. Tears threaten to invade my vision. Why does this nameless guy care about me? Why does this nameless man _care_ what happens to me?

I grit my teeth, embarrassed. He is still gripping my shirt, and I look down, refusing to make eye contact. “F-Fine. Let’s go to my apartment.”

He nods.

Ultimately, I needed more help than I could’ve imagined. The trek to my apartment is long, and by the end the blue-haired man’s holding almost all of my weight. The blood from my neck is flowing freely, my jaw is throbbing, and my abdomen feels like it’s was going to explode. Every step is agony.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I had wiped at my eye to stubbornly stop a tear from falling. But I failed to realize I had blood all over my hand. I can’t see shit now.

The blue-haired man leans me against the nearest wall to inspect the damage. He glances at his own leather jacket and silk blue shirt. Both very expensive items.

Without even a second thought, he untucks his silk shirt and uses the material to wipe at my eye.

“Fuck, don’t get my blood all over your expensive shit.”

“I don’t give a fuck, now stand still.”

After a moment, the blood is gone and I can see again. I mutter a, “thanks.”

The trek continues, and finally when we reach the apartment he takes my key and unlocks it. “It’ll be easier to use the bedroom, I need easy access to your stomach.” I hadn’t realized he noticed my stomach wound. I look down and see the center of my thin shirt soaked.

I grimace and nod in agreement. “First aid kit’s in the bathroom.”

He leads me into the bedroom, and I let my back hit the bed. My eyes shut, and they only open again when I see a shadow move along my eyelids.

The blue-haired man’s back with a sharp object in his hands. “Why the fuck ya got scissors?” He isn’t going to gut me like a fucking pig, is he?

He starts cutting my shirt down the middle. “I gotta get to your wound.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” I exclaim in horror, but by then it’s too late. “I don’t just have a closet full of shirts, ya know? Fuck.”

“Ah stop being a damn baby. I’ll buy ya a new one. Now shut up and lemme fix ya.”

It’s true, I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. He’s gone out of his way quite a bit to help me. With his tough, wealthy, “I don’t give a fuck” exterior it’s honestly surprising, and touching.

I see bloody welts and dark bruising on my stomach, and I drop my head to the mattress, annoyed I’ve been put in this situation. The blue-haired man leans over me and dabs something cold onto my forehead. It stings, and I barely wince. I can feel the blood flow stop flowing into my eye, and I wipe it one last time. At last, clearer vision.

“Fuck, kid, you keep smearing blood all over your face.”

“Sorry,” I say, slightly slurred. I don’t know if it’s the blood loss talking, but consciousness isn’t my best friend right now. We aren’t too close at the moment.

I can still hear as the blue-haired man responds, “Don’t be apologizing to _me.”_ He tries to speak it like a joke, but it falls flat. I appreciate him caring for me.

My body feels limp as I let him work freely. My mind strays from outside of my apartment. What if…What if I run into those two again? What if I’m too weak to fight them? What if, next time, nobody is there to save me? Fuck, I’m a fucking weak _fuck._

The blue-haired man’s touch is oddly soothing, and I fixate on it like a druggie craves crack. My dark thoughts are thoughts for another day, not now. I allow his touch to lull me into unconsciousness.

**XxXxXxX**

**A bit longer than usual so I hope that was a nice change!**

**I'll be honest, for those who have read my previous Bleach fanfic, I feel this one has better plot and character development. Naturally it's still early, but as we progress, I'll be curious what y'all think. ;D**

**Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3! Enjoy!**

**XxXxXxXxX**

I open my eyes, and am confused that I don't even remember closing them. I look out the window and it's daytime outside. The sky is a deep blue, and there's a bird perched in a nearby tree.

The morning starts out too peaceful, and it gives me a false sense of security. I look down to see my stomach and neck neatly bandaged. I poke my forehead, feeling a bandage there as well.

Looking to my right I see the blue-haired man laid out beside me on the tiny bed, his hand draped over my knee. His large body is curled up tight so he doesn't fall off the bed.

My morning starts so dazed, so confused. But memories of last night finally start rushing back to me, and I swallow hard. I…I owe this man my life. Fuck, if Bluebird hadn't been walking by when he did…

I observe him more carefully. He doesn't look as intimidating when he sleeps. He has dark circles under his eyes (probably because of me). His blue hair is messy and chaotic, strands falling into his face. His mouth is open and his chest puffs up large with each inhale. His shirt has ridden up at the waist, and just the barest glimpse of tan skin is visible.

I blink, realizing what I'm doing. I don't like the fact I just stared at him, unmoving, for several long seconds.

I quickly crawl out of bed, knocking his hand off my knee. I wasn't particularly gentle, but I didn't wake him up. I ultimately decide to let him sleep.

My abdomen screams as I walk, but I go into the kitchen and brew some coffee.

How long did I sleep? 3, maybe 4 hours? The boss Kariya said I was racking up too many overtime hours, so he took me off today's schedule. Which is great because I feel like shit, but what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to distract myself without work?

I don't have a TV, but I have 2 radios, one in my bedroom and one in the main living space. I walk to my small desk and turn on the radio. I'm tempted to blare it like I usually do, but I'm feeling considerate. I keep the radio next to my ear and let the lyrics and rhythm drown out my thoughts. I don't let myself think. I don't _want_ to think.

I escape the way Bluebird escapes with his women and alcohol. Escaping reality is…a blessing.

An hour later I hear a loud thud from over the music, and I assume the blue-haired man is awake.

As if on cue, 10 minutes later Bluebird stumbles out of the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe.

"Fuck, your bed is tiny. I fell off the damn thing just by turning over…"

I continue staring at the wall beside the radio. "Too bad you didn't get a concussion," I mutter, wishing I had another cup of coffee. I'm not awake enough for his shit.

This fucking Bluebird…at my apartment, _again._

What kind of shitty karma is this world spiting me with?

But I decide a new distraction has arrived, and I turn off the radio and turn to face him. He glances at me then promptly walks away, back into the bedroom. I'm confused until he comes back with the first aid kit.

"Sit down kid, lemme change those."

I had somehow, even if for a moment, forgotten the reason Bluebird is at my apartment to begin with. I sigh deeply and plop onto the sofa. Also, I'm tired of this asshole calling me a kid. Do I act, look, or seem like a kid? I _highly_ fucking doubt it.

I hadn't realized it, but my stomach is already oozing blood and seeping through my shirt. Hydrogen peroxide and fresh bandages are needed.

I take off my shirt, knowing my fate. He sits beside me, supplies in hand. He begins with my neck. The disinfecting liquid burns, and I grit my teeth.

The process goes on for a few long moments, before Bluebird breaks the silence. "…You got a lotta scars for a bartender..."

He says it nonchalantly, but I can hear the curiosity in his voice. Curiosity, as well as something deeper? As I ignore the burn of my neck, I notice he has a deep frown, etched into his face like it's a permanent fixture.

Being shirtless shows off my myriad of scars, and I'm sure he also noticed them last night.

I ignore it completely. I wince as he pats my neck with gauze. "How come you know how to do all this?"

There is a pause as he registers my avoidance. After another moment, he shrugs. "Just the nature of my job, I guess."

Hm. I never realized until now how little I know about this man. Maybe he's thinking the same about me. I ask, "What's your job?"

He says nothing for a moment, then finally he shrugs. "I own a few nightclubs." Huh. Part of me feels like that's not the whole answer.

But…he _owns_ them? That explains why the fucker walks around in clothes that could only be bought on a god's salary. I ask, "What the hell does that have to do with bandaging people?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Clients are shitty. People are shitty." Then he smirks, teeth white and feral. "Sometimes you gotta rough 'em up to remind them who's in charge. And…sometimes you gotta help out the people who helped you."

Ah. As in, help out his employees who got hurt, I'm assuming? That seems oddly kind of him. My boss Kariya doesn't care what happens to me. He even encourages me to wear less clothing to promote more clientele.

"Sounds like a fulfilling job."

His response is an amused cackle as he finishes with my neck. He adjusts his body to peel off the bandage on my stomach. "I don't necessarily enjoy it, but it's worth the end result."

I snort, "Ah, the spending money on booze and whores. Seems exhilarating."

"You're missing out, kid."

Our banter is cut short as the bandage is removed, and his blue eyes become fixated on my stomach. His expression, just a moment ago light-hearted and amused, is now angry and ominous.

"What…the fuck happened?" His voice is sinister, and I force down the shiver that wants to travel through my body.

I glance at my stomach to see it is essentially all of the colors. Black, blue, and bloody. He probably couldn't see it as well last night in the dark. But in the daytime and artificial light of my apartment…well, it hurts more than I let on, and now I see why.

"He had brass knuckles." I swallow audibly. "Can't win 'em all…haha." I try to laugh to lighten the mood, and to ease the death glare Bluebird is currently aiming at my stomach. But, I know it falls flat.

"So this was clearly deliberate. That guy walked out of his home _bringing_ brass knuckles with him—"

"Drop it, please."

"What the fuck kid—"

"Fucking drop it."

He stops talking, and I'm grateful. I look away, instead glancing out the nearby window.

Last night…meant a lot of things. Lank and Thick coming back into my life is a complication I'm not fully ready to wrap my head around.

Back when I had finally…escaped my past, escaped my endless captivity, I had been planning to leave the city. Start over. Rukia, my rock at the time, had convinced me to stay. And truth be told, I hadn't wanted to leave Rukia. She was the one person who understood me. And then she introduced me to Renji, and Chad, and Inoue…all these people that now make me call this city home.

But…was it all a mistake? Was remaining here a deadly fucking mistake?

I turn my gaze back to Grimmjow. He still looks upset, and he's still staring at my stomach. "Please…please let's drop it." If I sound desperate I don't care. I just can't. I can't talk about this, or _think_ about this right now.

I can hear his teeth grind against each other, and I know he wants to fight back. I'm surprised when he finally releases a deep sigh. "Fine…fucking fine."

He grabs the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and he applies it to gauze.

"This is gonna hurt," he warns me.

And I knew that, but that still doesn't stop me from gasping as he applies it to my stomach. It burns like a motherfucker. I grip the couch tight, trying to stay still. I don't want to look weak. I don't want to _be_ weak.

"Sorry," he murmurs as he dunks another piece of gauze and applies it to different part of my stomach.

Soon, finally, he's almost done. I hadn't made a noise, but I evidently bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. He mutters another apology, and if the slight tremor of his hands is anything to go by, he still hasn't calmed down.

Why this man is so bothered and worried on _my_ behalf…is beyond me.

He takes a deep breath and his hands still. He applies the final bandage with crisp precision, like he's done this a hundred times before.

"Thanks Bluebird," I say, appreciative. He's gathering the first aid supplies and murmurs a "yeah, yeah."

He leaves and puts the first aid kit back where he found it in my bathroom. I gingerly walk into my bedroom and throw on the first shirt I see. I don't care what I look like; I just want to cover up the fresh wound and ugly, scattered scars on my torso.

I grab an extra shirt, one of my nicest ones. I walk back into the living room and toss it to him.

He catches it, but raises an eyebrow at it. "Why are you giving me this?"

I gesture to his torso, where my own dried blood is splattered on his silk shirt. He had wiped it on my face last night, and was too tired to take it off before he passed out.

Passed out, after saving me…

"Sorry, that's the nicest shirt I got. Hope it works."

As I say that he gives me a horrified look and immediately throws it back to me, as if it were made of thorns and nails. "Don't give me your best shirt Strawberry! Fuckin' keep it."

I catch the shirt I had offered. I get that Bluebird is a rich motherfucker and doesn't need my cheap shirt. But I want to show him my appreciation, even if in a small way. I ruined one of his nice shirts, fuck I ruined his entire night last night. If I need to give him my best fucking shirt to prove my gratitude, so be it.

I throw the shirt back at him. "It's fine I never need it anyway." I shrug and grin, "I'm just a bartender."

Bluebird sneers, and he doesn't see the humor in it like I do. "Shut up kid." He mutters and looks away, "You're fucking worth way more than that."

I don't know what he means. Regardless I retort, "Just wear it Bluebird, better than wearing fucking blood." As an afterthought I add, "It's even blue, looks good with your eyes."

Fuck, did I just compliment him? Well…that's embarrassing. It just came out so naturally.

But, I tell myself, it was true. I'm not gonna beat myself up over it because it was true.

He pauses for a long moment, as if deliberating. Finally he heaves off his own bloody shirt and buttons the new one.

I should have known better Bluebird and I aren't quite the same size. This bastard is taller and at least 30 pounds heavier. The material clings to his body as if he were born in it. His muscular form bulges against the material, his biceps taut and visible.

"…Like what ya see?"

I blink furiously, my gaze flying up to see Bluebird's humored gaze.

Fuck. What the fuck is _wrong_ with me? "You're an asshole," I mutter. But my heart wasn't in the insult. I was still a bit too appreciative of his help.

He was rich, important, he owned fucking night clubs. _Plural._ For him to put this time and effort into someone like me…it meant more to me than I could verbalize.

I snicker. "You can barely move without ripping it."

"Don't make fun of me. If moving makes me rip it, I might as well give it back.

I retort, "If moving makes you rip it, might as well not move." I grin, and he glares back.

"Bastard," he barely mutters. He walks toward the small kitchen space now, careful in his new attire. "I'm hungry, make me food."

"No, get your own food."

"But I _helped_ ya damn it. Feed me."

I pause. Damn it. He got me there. He helped me when he had no need to, and now I owe him a favor.

I open my fridge. I have salami, eggs, and milk past its expiration date. Essentially nothing.

I take the last three eggs from the carton. I hear Bluebird walk toward the kitchen area, and I quickly close the fridge door so he doesn't see.

He takes a seat at the small counter, and I turn on the stove and grab a pan.

I start cracking the eggs. "Ya like it scrambled?"

"Love it," he replies immediately.

I make him scrambled eggs and put them on a plate in front of him. The moment I hand him a fork he's scarfing it down like he's been in a coma for a week, and I'm impressed with how fast he eats. Halfway through he asks with his mouth full, "You're not eating any?"

I shake my head. "Nah, not hungry." I'm far used to not eating breakfast.

Silence ensues, and he's almost done eating when he puts his fork down and stares at the counter. He's lost in thought, and I needlessly tidy up my small kitchen space. I can feel him wanting to ask me something. But I don't want him to…

"So, I have to ask Strawberry…" the blue-haired man begins, and I look up. His gaze bores through me deeper than the ocean, and I can't escape his gaze. "What happened last night?"

I had been fighting it, I hadn't wanted to think about this. But flashes of the alleyway rip through me. I'd been beaten up…almost raped. Thick and Lank are after me again. It's only because of this guy that I'm in one piece.

I look up from the counterspace I was cleaning to see his piercing blue eyes stare into my soul. I swallow and immediately look away.

"Finish your eggs."

"I'm done."

Wordlessly I take the plate. I empty the food into the garbage and clean the plate in the sink. I'm procrastinating, and based on Bluebird's expression, he is not a fan.

I clear my throat. "There's no story to tell. I was walking home from work, and some guys jumped me."

"Did you know these guys?"

I blink, and that question seems to trigger something from last night. I knew them, but… _this_ guy could know them as well. Lank (who I now know as Nnoitra) was behind me, securing my hands. Thick was groping inside my pants and gnawing on my neck. But after that, after that…

After that they heard the blue-haired man, and the guy Nnoitra had identified him by name. Grimmjaw? Grimmjo? It was as if those two _knew_ this man in front of me. But had escaped before the blue-haired man could identify either of them himself.

If Lank and Thick know the blue-haired man, why would they be scared of him? Lank and Thick are fucking _yakuza._

Could…could Bluebird also be yakuza?

Yakuza people own night clubs, right? I don't know much about that seedy side of life but it makes sense in my head.

Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck._

"Yeah," I say, only half listening to myself. "Yeah I did…"

"Do you think they're gonna come back?"

I hear the question but it doesn't process. The memory becomes clearer and the lanky one _definitely_ called the blue-haired man Grimmjow. What…What the hell does that _mean?_

If this man is Grimmjow, the guy who potentially _knows_ these guys, should I be worried he is just like Lank and Thick?

The fact he took such good care of me, and showed himself to not be a threat…is no longer relevant to me. He could be a wolf dressed in sheep's clothing. I can't trust anyone. I can't trust anyone but myself.

The plate slips through my fingers and tumbles into the sink. I don't care, and I march to the front door. I make sure not to fully turn my back on the blue-haired man. "I think you should leave." My voice provides no room for argument.

"Wait, what? What the hell, kid?"

Fuck. And at the bar the blue-haired man had been talking about his _friend_ who wanted to fuck me again. Thick, the one who bit me and gnawed on me like a steak, must be Yammy. Grimmjow's friend…

Nnoitra and Yammy…wow. Putting names to their faces feels too real.

And of course, this blue guy…fuck. I didn't like him when I first met him, he was just obsessed with booze and whores. And he's clearly no amateur when it comes to stitching people back up.

…I never liked him from the start. I should have trusted my fucking gut.

"I need y-you to go." That sentence had the smallest stutter. Fuck I hate myself.

He looks at me with confusion and worry, and it almost makes me backtrack. His concern seems genuine, how could he possibly be like those two from last night?

Then I remember all devils hide behind innocent masks, and I open the door a little wider.

The blue-haired man finally stands. He pushes the stool hard into the kitchen counter. "Fine, I get it." He walks right up to me. "But don't expect me to come savin' the fucking day again just 'cause you got in over your head." He taps my neck, where the bite wound is, just enough to sting. I wince but say nothing.

He leaves through the door. "See ya at Rukongai." And then he's gone.

I stand there a moment later, suddenly disturbed by the silence. The room feels too empty, too quiet now. I close the door, lock it, and walk to my bedroom. I turn on the radio to full-volume and drown myself in noise.

**XxXxXxX**

Three days pass. Any shift I can work without passing out, I work. I work and I distract myself and I try my best to avoid my apartment. I just don't want to be… _alone._ Alone in my thoughts, alone in my mind.

I haven't seen the blue-haired man again, and I honestly can't decide if I want to. Since that day I've questioned if he's truly a threat. Lank and Thick seemed to know him, but…that doesn't necessarily mean anything, does it? Or maybe the guy's not even _"Grimmjow."_ Maybe they were mistaken, and Bluebird showed up out of sheer luck?

Either way I acted before I knew the truth, and now I don't know what to do.

"Ichigo you look like shit, you shouldn't be working…Ichigo? Ichigo are you listening to me?"

I look to my right to see Renji speaking. "Sorry, just a bit tired."

"Of course you're fucking tired, you've been working almost non-stop!" He slaps a rag on the counter and cleans. "And when the _hell_ are ya gonna tell me what happened to your neck and face?"

I absently take a hand and cover my bandaged neck. I haven't told anyone about my situation, even though I've been tempted. I might be in some deep shit, and I have a feeling those two from the alley aren't done yet. But, I refuse to drag anyone down with me.

I'll admit, cleaning and bandaging my own wounds has felt weird the last few days. The blue-haired man had been gentle but meticulous. It's dumb that I wish he was here now.

But no. I don't need anyone. I prefer to be alone.

"I'm fine Renji, let it go."

He sighs in frustration, and I continue with the job. I walk over to Terry, who just sat down. "What can I get ya?"

He looks super excited. "2 buttery nipples please."

A pause. I'm having a bad day today. I don't even move to reach for ingredients. "You're not talking about the shots…are you?"

His cheeks are red. "No…I'm not…"

I close my eyes, and I take a deep breath. When I open them I slowly stroll to the next customer. I ask the young woman, "What can I get you?"

The day goes on. It's 1pm, the crowd is starting to thicken a bit, and I get caught up in the rush of making and serving drink after drink. I don't think, I just do. That's what I like about this job.

The sun is just starting to fall in the sky when the tranquility of my entire day is shattered. The door to the bar opens and I see blue hair, with those matching bright blue eyes.

As weird as it sounds, I wasn't expecting to see him again at Rukongai, even though he'd parted with "see you at Rukongai." I assumed he had had enough of my selfish behavior.

His gaze meets mine and he makes his way toward me.

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to act within this new, foreign atmosphere we have. He had saved me from 2 men who tried to rape me, dressed my wounds, and all I did in return was accuse him of being an enemy…

How am I _supposed_ to address this man? This man has become so much more than a customer.

This is foreign territory for me, and I don't like it. So instead of being "Ichigo the guy who needed help from a stranger" I'll be "Ichigo the bartender who remains a healthy distance away."

"You want your usual?"

He ignores the question completely. "How are you doing?"

It seems the blue-haired man does not currently want my bartending.

He pointedly glances at the bandage on my neck and bruised jaw. I huff, "I'm fine."

"There's no way you're fine." He taps a finger against the bandage on my neck, and I slap his hand away, feeling dumbly ashamed.

One of the nearby patrons leaves, and I promptly take his wineglass and clean it. "I don't know what else to tell ya, because I'm totally fine."

Terry leans in and waggles his eyebrows. "Oh yeah baby, you're _very_ fine."

I regret giving him leniency earlier. I point to the door. _"Out."_

Terry huffs, and I can hear him muttering under his breath as he slinks out of the bar.

Bluebird watches him leave. Then he turns back around and throws a thumb in Terry's direction. "Why is he always so fucking gross?"

Bluebird's expression is repulsion, and it honestly makes me feel better about this whole thing. It lessens some of the severity of this situation and helps me relax. More than that, this man is disgusted on _my_ behalf. How could I possibly have kicked him out of my apartment? Why was I so distrustful?

I laugh. "Beats me. I'm wondering when he'll give up, he's been doing this to me since I started working here. Thankfully he's harmless."

"That dude's a fucking cunt."

"Ha. Says the man who orders a ridiculous amount of shots."

Bluebird grins, showing off his white teeth. "What can I say? I enjoy my vices." At that I pull out a shot glass and pour him a shot of his usual.

He downs it. I pour him two more and then do my rounds with the other customers. It's still early in the day, there aren't too many to attend to. But I want to at least perform my job well.

The door to Rukongai opens, and for no reason in particular I turn to see the newcomer. I'm shocked into stillness. I'm quick to realize it's the man from my past.

Average-looking, run of the mill, boring man with a dark secret he will never remember.

Our gazes meet, and he looks at me with those same eyes. Those eyes of longing, searching for something just beyond his reach.

Today he wears a simple collared shirt and dark khakis. He sits down reverently, never breaking my gaze. "Hello…wow, you are absolutely beautiful, and I feel deeply connected to you. Please sir, what is your name?"

I can tell Bluebird is absolutely fucking balking on the sidelines. Even in my peripheral I can see his mouth gaping open nearly wide enough to mimic a venus flytrap.

I struggle every time this man comes. Because I want to tell him, but I absolutely, straight-up just fucking don't. Because fuck that. Why force _me_ to re-live it?

Who's even to say the bastard _remembers_ after I tell him? Months from now I bet he'll still be walking into this bar asking how he knows me.

Fuck this man. Fuck what this man has burdened me with, I didn't ask for _any of it._

I keep my hands busy and cut some limes, trying to distract myself. I don't want to feel any of this.

I respond, "I'd rather not. Wanna drink? Cause that's honestly all I'm offering."

The man isn't deterred, and he points to my neck. "How did you get injured, may I ask? I hope you don't hurt too much."

This just gets worse and worse. I scowl, "Stop asking questions, it's annoying."

"Your orange hair is absolutely stunning. It's so beautiful I want to run my fingers through it."

My eye twitches. I almost want to laugh. He always did love my hair. "Cool but I never asked your opinion. You can drink or you can leave."

I know he isn't a drinker, never has been. Before me he was actually a pretty standup guy. For the most part.

He hangs his head dejectedly. "I…I really feel connected with you. I don't know why. Do you feel connected with me?"

"Tell ya what." I throw my towel over my shoulder. I have had it with this man. I am not _in the mood_ for this level of emotion today. Knowing Bluebird is witnessing this whole fucking ordeal just makes it tenfold worse. "If you can tell me one thing about me, just _one thing_ , I'll go to dinner with you and answer any questions you have."

I could tell a fire lit in the man's eyes, and he seemed impassioned and ready to unveil everything he knows.

But…as moments pass, that flame seems to extinguish, and his shoulders sag. "I…I…" He licks his lips, he puts a hand to his head. He realizes now that he knows, _remembers_ , nothing concrete about me at all. Disappointing.

I had also been curious of his memory retention. If he remembered _anything_ about me, besides the ambiguous notion he knew I was part of his past.

But he failed the test, he knows nothing. If I jog his memory today, 2 weeks from now he will probably be right fucking back to square one.

I pick up the knife I had been using to cut limes. For no real reason. It just felt powerful, and right in the moment. "Then I guess we don't have that strong of a connection after all. Have a good day."

He nods in surrender, and for a moment I think he's going to cry. He hops off the barstool, looking back once before finally leaving Rukongai.

I feel Bluebird's gaze. He is probably so confused, like trying to solve a complex calculus equation with only a toothpick and a pair of scissors.

"Strawberry…" He begins, then pauses. As if trying to decide the right words.

He licks his lips, as though they're suddenly too dry. "Who…Who the fuck was that? _W-What_ the fuck was that?"

I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to deal with _any_ of this.

I hastily come up with a response, answering a different question than what he asked. "Part of his brain is missing, and both his short and long-term memory are shot to hell." I refuse to make eye contact with the blue-haired man. "I was with him when he was shot in the head. Nicked part of his brain. He comes in here and doesn't remember anything about the last time he saw me. Or the time before that, or the time before that."

It's awfully dark when you think about it. I can feel Bluebird's gaze of unreserved shock. He sputters, but no words come out.

He finally asks, "And why, why would he come here, to see _you?_ You're obviously a big part of his past if you're the only thing he fuckin' remembers. And he clearly…" His cheeks turn the faintest pink, and he looks away with a frown, " _Likes_ you." He spits out the last two words, as if perturbed.

My grave of shame just gets deeper and deeper. Bluebird was wrong about one thing, though. The man had never been a "big" part of my life. On the contrary, I had only known him for 2 weeks. He had been a client of mine.

Unfortunately for both of us, he fell in love with the prostitute. He was madly in love with me, but to this day I still don't remember his name.

It's one big _fucking_ joke.

"He had a bit of a crush on me, I guess."

Bluebird rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'll say." He glances back at me. "How did he get shot anyway?"

I no longer want to talk about this. I can't, I just can't. "I don't wanna get into this."

I can feel the man staring holes into me, and I refuse to make eye contact. I grab a wash cloth and clean down the surface of the bar Terry and the man from my past had been occupying.

I mean fuck…that night was a culmination of every horrible thing wrong with my existence. That was the beginning of… _everything_. It was the fucking night I met Thick and Lank. Nnoitra and Yammy.

A chill runs down my spine, and I force myself to mentally remain in the present.

Bluebird finally huffs. "Fine. Didn't fuckin' care that much anyway…"

He plays off apathy well. I notice there is a more consistent filing in of customers, and this is a good excuse for me to escape from the blue-haired man's chilling gaze. I've spent too much time with him anyway. I have more customers than just him.

I pour him another shot then place his liquor back on the top shelf. It's funny I view it as _his_ liquor now. I address Bluebird. "Alright, I'll be back later."

As I walk toward my new customers I hear him mutter under his breath, "Yeah, last time ya said that ya fuckin' disappeared…"

Well…he's not wrong.

I let myself escape in my job and escape in the music, and I notice I actually feel pretty okay. Not antsy, not looking over my shoulder. The blue-haired man and I discussed things from years ago, things I constantly try to forget. But they are over. It's over now right?

I…I'm not that person anymore. That was years ago. I'm better now. I'm normal now. Right?

My thoughts immediately darken. With Lank and Thick back in my life…will I revert back to the person I used to be?

Almost like a reminder, my stomach and bitten neck simultaneously throb.

I'm asking questions I don't want to answer. I focus on the present. The music sounds good and I lightly sway to the music as I fix a margarita.

"Hey babe! Why don't you take off those nice form-fittin' jeans and give us a show?"

I heave a deep sigh, recognizing that voice. I turn to see the big white teeth and wide grin pointed in my direction. That's one of my regulars, Shinji, who pesters me every chance he gets.

"Fuck off Shinji. Buy a drink or get out." It's rare that I tolerate sexual harassment. Very, very rare.

"But Ichiii, I wanna see you in your birthday suit." The way he says it sends a chill down my spine.

Shinji is disgusting and perverted, but he's not a rapist…I think.

I stand in front of Shinji and my palm hits the countertop. "That's it, out."

Shinji protests, "But—"

_"Out."_

He seems genuinely appalled, as if he hasn't seen me do this to _countless_ other patrons. His eyes are slitted, "I'll be back, you can fucking count on it." He hops off the stool and walks away.

As Shinji passes the blue-haired man suddenly stands. I watch with confusion as he grabs Shinji's forearm hard enough to bruise, and he leans in and whispers something I can't hear. I have no idea what's said, but I don't miss the utterly petrified look on Shinji's face.

Shinji is stunned, and he looks into Bluebird's eyes and clearly sees something that scares him to his core. Even when Bluebird releases his grip, Shinji is rooted in place, frozen in fear. After a long, agonizing moment, he scurries away. He turns to look at Bluebird three times (as if making sure the man isn't following him?) before rushing out the door.

The blue-haired man sits back down on his stool and I walk up to him. "Bluebird. What the hell was that?"

"He was pissin' me off."

"I get that, but what did you say?"

"Doesn't matter."

I scoff, "Are you kidding? You're scaring my other clients." A few heads had turned their direction. I don't want him scaring everyone else off.

He glowers at me with a burning fire in his blue eyes, and I have to force myself not to look away. "I said what he deserved to hear. And that's all I gotta say about that."

I try to stand my ground but…I don't argue. I feel conflicting emotions. I know Bluebird can be a dick. But, I oddly appreciate him caring enough to defend me. There have been multiple instances he has proven himself to be an ally. Maybe I should stop being an asshole? Fuck but all I'm good at is being an asshole. Trust no one, question everything. Bluebird is a rare and foreign entity for me.

I look off to a random painting on the wall. I mutter inaudibly, "Thank you…"

He leans forward, clearly confused. "What, kid? I didn't catch that."

I clear my throat. "T-Thank you. Thanks. Fer…all that shit."

He seems to do a doubletake, blinking rapidly. As the words register, he seems genuinely taken aback. "You're welcome kid—"

"I'm not a kid."

"You are to me."

I roll my eyes and walk over to another customer. I take her order and allow myself to be petty and embarrassed and stay away from the blue-haired man.

Part of me hates him for treating me like a damsel in distress. Part of me hates needing help. But a small part of me actually…

…Needs to let those emotions be squashed like a fucking bug under a shoe. Fuck.

I now vigorously clean a martini glass. I don't know what to think about all this, and it pisses me off.

In all honesty, clients who want to touch me are typically the ones who tip the most. That's just the nature of the business, and is why Kariya encourages me to wear provocative clothing.

But, I push back at the demands every time. Partly because I'm not a fucking Ken doll you can choose its outfit for the day. And also, my scars are a bit…prevalent. I don't want to scare off customers. That'd have the opposite effect.

Fucking blue guy does whatever he pleases. Scares away customers. I heave a sigh. I'm trying to remain pissed so that these other, confusing, foreign emotions don't engulf me.

I'm in front of him when he addresses me again. "So…your name is Ichi?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "That guy called you 'Ichi.'"

Oh. Yeah, yeah he did.

I hate that nickname.

I see a customer signaling for another drink, and I walk away. "No."

I fix up a few more drinks and close a tab before I come back to Bluebird. I pour him a shot. He asks, "Why did it take me so long to learn your damn name?"

"I told you, that ain't my name."

"Don't ya want to know my name?"

I pause at that. I put the wineglass I was cleaning down. Honestly, I want to know his name, but I don't know what I'd do or think if his name ended up being "Grimmjow," the name the two fucks in the alleyway said.

"No."

"That's rude as hell."

I move on. "You want another shot?"

He sighs and looks away. He finally says, "No." He stands and mutters, "I'm gonna find a chick that'll give me a blowjob."

That is something I certainly don't need to know. He leaves and I remain at the bar, serving drinks. I listen to the music resonating from the speakers, enjoying the rhythm, and I allow myself to escape into it, even if briefly.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter 3 complete! ^_^ Shall be exploring some Grimmjow POV next chapter. :)**

**Thanks for joining in everyone :D Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Some cute comedy, as well as some unfortunate despair. Commence Chapter 4! :)**

**XxXxXxX**

Just as Bluebird said, he went to go find a woman who would “suck his dick”, and I continued diligently working. My shift ends at 3am, and so far everyone has been oddly well-behaved.

I think that is, in large part, _because_ of Bluebird. His encounter with Shinji an hour ago had been subtle; just a brief, albeit likely deadly, exchange of words.

But, somehow, it left a residual effect over the rest of the crowd that witnessed it. Nobody’s hackled me, harassed me, or tried to jump my bones. Hell, the person sitting beside Bluebird at the time gave me a $70 tip. As if he was fearful if he didn’t tip enough he’d get his head skewered.

I like the overall effect the muscular, big-chested blue man had. I smile to myself as I mix up a margarita in peace. I hope it lasts.

Later in the night, around 1am, Bluebird comes to the bar to close out his tab. He winks at me as his arm is wrapped around a thin-waisted, big-titted woman. It looks like he found a woman to suck his dick. Good for him.

He signs his receipt, unceremoniously drops the pen, and walks out of Rukongai with slut in hand. He’s just one walking, talking cliché.

I continue working, ignoring the sour feeling in my gut. I bend over to grab another cleaning rag, ignoring the pain in my abdomen. As much as I want to forget what happened in the alleyway, my injuries make it impossible. Almost all of my torso is black and blue with thick smears of red, and I can feel the wounds stretch as I bend. I hope nothing scars. I have enough scars.

I hear a loud whistle behind me, and I straighten up and turn to find the culprit.

I don’t know who he is, he’s just a nameless customer. I may have seen him once before. His raven hair is slicked back, his smile sinister, and his demeanor screaming arrogant and “holier-than-though”.

He snickers. “Ah, poor boy. It looks as though your bodyguard has left you helpless and alone.”

Wow. He must be referring to the fucking Bluebird. “He ain’t my bodyguard fucktard.”

A tongue flashes out, and wraps around his upper lip. “I want to touch you, boy. It’s been too long."

He sounds serious, too serious. He was not one of my clients. I don’t remember this face.

Too long since, what…he’s gotten to fuck someone?

 _Not_ my fucking problem.

I’m scared but mask it well. “Not happening. Now leave.” There is a bat under the bar. I’m not telling him to leave twice.

The man sifts through his back pocket and places a card on the countertop. “If you ever desire to play.” He stands and leaves with a parting smirk. His tongue glides along his lips again. What a disgusting motherfucker.

I grab the card, glance at it long enough to see his name is Aizen Sousuke. His business card is the thickness of a credit card, black with gold lettering. It reeks of wealth and self-importance, and I immediately throw it in the trash. I notice only now that Renji had been listening to the conversation, and actually has the bat in his hand.

His teeth are grit and his fists are shaking. “I’m fuckin’ tired of it Ichigo. I’m tired of people treating ya like shit.”

I look down at my ratty sneakers. I think part of it is the rumor. The rumor that, yes, I used to work the street. I used to be a prostitute. I used to be at such a low point in my life that I didn’t care what happened to my body. I didn’t even care if I lived or died. This, of course, was before I let Thick and Lank take me.

Hell, I don’t even know the extent of what Renji knows about me. I haven’t told him details of my past. I don’t know how much he’s listened in on the rumors. I also wouldn’t blame Rukia if she clued him in at some point.

The rumors continue, but I’m different now. Now I have Rukia, Renji, Inoue, Chad. These are people I have befriended, and people I trust. I don’t want to go back to my past life. I _won’t._

“It’s okay Renji,” I say, and I mean it. I coax the bat out of his hand. “I’m okay. It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine!”

“It _is.”_

He lets me take the bat, and he tilts my chin to the side, further revealing my bandage. “What happened…” he whispers. He sounds crushed, devastated.

I can feel some of the customers’ eyes on us. We’re still in public.

But that doesn’t matter. I need to help Renji. I’m an asshole, a stupid fucking asshole, but I care for him.

“How about the five of us go out for a movie or somethin’? Watch a comedy and laugh our asses off. That’d be cool, right?”

The pain hasn’t left his eyes, but he lightly chuckles. His hand falls back to his side. “Ya always were good at changing the subject. Yeah…that’d be cool.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll text them and see if they can. Ya down for this Friday?”

“Sounds good.”

“Perfect.”

I get caught up in serving drinks and chatting with customers. Renji comes back to me later and says Friday at 7pm, and I’m pleased with my progress. Movies are distracting. Hanging out with friends is distracting. This is good, this will be good.

At 3am we close up Rukongai, and at 3:30 I’m walking home. The knife in my back pocket is a gentle reassurance as I walk past the now-empty alleyway. I won’t let myself get caught like that again. I won’t be weak again.

**XxXxX**

The next day I speak with Kariya and request my Friday shift get changed to the morning. He suggests he’ll change it if I get on my knees, and I suggest I’ll quit my job if he makes me.

So now it’s 10am on Friday and I’m turning on the neon “Open” light on the front door of Rukongai. Few people drink their sorrows away this early in the morning, which means less customers, less tips. It sucks, but it’ll be okay. I’ve been working a fuckton lately. I have enough money for a simple movie theater ticket. I can afford it.

The day goes by slowly, and at 5pm I finally clock out. Gin takes my place behind the bar, and tries to smack my ass as I leave. I anticipate it and elbow him in the neck before he can make contact. The deathly gasp he lets out still brings me joy when I think back on it.

With hands in my pockets I head back home. As I pass by that dreaded alleyway, I think back on my encounter with Thick and Lank. And maybe it’s not even just them. There’s several people I need to watch out for. I can’t let that night happen again…

And this Aizen Sousuke character? Fuck. This is like a poorly made movie with a wimpy protagonist and twenty fucking villains. There’s no way there’s going to be a happy ending here.

I started out walking, but soon I’m jogging home. It’s maybe 5:30 when I reach my apartment stairs, and it feels weird to make it home so early.

It’s still daytime when I climb the stairs two at a time and unlock my apartment door.

“Oh there you are.”

I jump a thousand feet in the air and look for the nearest weapon. _Someone’s in my home? What the fuck?!_

Then a blue head peaks out from around the corner. “I’ve been sifting through your food. Ya ain’t got shit.”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing in my apartment asshole?!”

“I was hungry and wanted eggs.” He pops out, back into the kitchen, and my heart is still pounding twice the normal speed. How the hell did this rich fucking blue bird break into my apartment? And _why?_

I close the door behind me, slowly making my way into the kitchen. His voice is somber. “You don’t have much food. Did ya…did ya feed me all your eggs that day Ichi?”

I’m still holding my chest and trying to slow my breathing. I finally respond, “Doesn’t matter. I owed you anyway.” I shiver, and I wrap my jacket a little tighter around me. I owed him a _lot_ that day. “But more importantly, how the _fuck_ did you get in my apartment?”

“I’m fucking amazing, that’s how.”

“You better not have broken my lock dickhead.”

He pulls a bobby pin out of his pocket and winks. “Nah. I’m just a master of many things, including picking locks.”

I’m impressed but also not impressed. I look at the clock and see it’s 5:45pm. I go into my bedroom, leaving the blue-haired man to his devices. It should probably bother me more than it does that he broke into my apartment. Whatever. He’s a rich guy, there ain’t shit worth stealing in this dump. But it’s home.

“Ichi, you don’t have any food,” he calls again from the kitchen. I hear him bustling through the cabinets.

“Don’t call me Ichi.”

“What the hell do I call you then?”

“Not Ichi.” I pull my white t-shirt off and replace it with a black button-up, then I swap my washed out jeans for dark denims. Inoue once said they were my best look. I don’t necessarily agree, but she would know better than me.

The blue-haired man calls out, “If you don’t give me another name then I’m just gonna call you Ichi.”

I huff and roll my eyes. I walk back into the kitchen to see him with a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Gimme a cig,” I say, and he does so without hesitation. I use his lighter, inhale deeply, and blow smoke out of my mouth as I exhale. Some of my tension drifts away.

He eyes my new attire for a moment, then blinks and starts opening up more cabinets. “Why ya dressin’ up Ichi? Have a date?”

“I ain’t Ichi,” I growl. “And I’m going out with friends.”

“That ain’t a good idea.”

I sneer. “And why the hell do you think that?”

He finally stops sifting through my kitchen cabinets, and he turns to face me. He leans on the countertop, the cig between his teeth. “What if those bastards come after ya again?”

I meet his gaze evenly, my chest tight with anger. Anytime I walk across the street by myself I wonder if those two will reappear and kidnap me. I’m never _not_ conscious of the danger.

But I’m not going to let it rule my life.

“I’ll be fine.” I had transferred the knife to my new jeans, and it sits snugly in my back pocket.

“You sound too certain, kid. Just because you got a few muscles doesn’t mean you can take down a group.”

“You’re not my keeper you fucking moron. Stay out of it.” He’s pissing me the _fuck_ off. He needs to stop invading my life.

His blue eyes are so piercing, and his gaze so inquisitive. Thoughtful. “What kind of life did you have, kid?”

Part of me wonders if he has heard the rumors about me. Nonetheless I interpret that as a rhetorical question, and I leave the small kitchen. My back is turned toward the blue-haired man, but somehow I don’t see him as a true threat. Which is surprising. I am not a trusting person.

“I’m meeting up with my friends now. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Good, then I’ll go with you!”

I stop in my tracks, and I turn around to see a big grin on his face. My eyes are slit. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You said I could do whatever I want.”

“I lied.”

“That’s not very nice.”

I shoot him the middle finger, which in my opinion is an entirely valid response. I open my door and conclude with, “I’m leaving, don’t follow me.” I shut the door behind me with a bang, allowing the blue-haired man to remain in my apartment. Too goddamn trusting, but somehow I’m still not worried. Maybe I truly can trust that man. I don’t know.

I jog down the steps then head to the movie theater. For now, I won’t think about him.

**XxXxX**

“But Kurosaki-kun, I think it looks very nice on you! Please don’t speak of yourself like that.”

I’m currently tinkering around on my cell phone, half-listening to her and half-simply annoyed. I like Inoue, she’s an amazing friend and a trustworthy person. But…how did we get on the topic of my attire? I don’t give a fuck.

“You’re right, Inoue. That was dumb of me.”

She responds with the biggest smile, and she tightly latches onto my arm. “Yay. I’m glad to hear you finally agree Kurosaki-kun.”

I’m with the people closest to me: Rukia, Renji, Chad, and Inoue. The movie we’re watching is a comedy, which I’m kind of glad for. I dislike most movie genres, particularly drama and tragedy. I have enough of both of those in my life.

Chad stands beside me as a silent pillar, and Renji coughs into his arm. “Right, okay. Ichigo looks amazing in his jeans. Are we done now? The movie starts in ten minutes."

 _Thank god_ , I think to myself as we buy our tickets and head into the theater room we’re directed to. The room is about half full, and we take our seats in the middle. Inoue is still oddly attached to me, and because of that we end up sitting beside each other. On my other side is Rukia.

Rukia barely leans into my shoulder and whispers, “Don’t mess this up Ichigo. Please.”

That surprises me. I cock an eyebrow. “How the hell can I mess up watching a movie? Don’t I just sit here?”

_“No,_ ” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t mess _that_ up,” her eyes gesture toward Inoue.

I’m still confused. The movie starts and I decide I don’t care.

The movie is a comedy, and yeah it’s relatively funny. I don’t have the sense of humor I wish I did though, and I don’t think I laughed too much. I’m too jaded, and it was hard to view any of it as realistic. That shit doesn’t happen in real life. At least, not my life.

Throughout the movie Inoue alternated between holding my arm and resting her head on my shoulder. I guess she was sleepy, though in a super dark movie theater I couldn’t blame her.

“This is nice. Isn’t it Kurosaki-kun?” she whispers, her head on my shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s a good movie.” It’s honestly rare for me to shell out the money for something pointless like this, so it’s been a good experience.

But I also ignited this movie idea in the first place because Renji was asking too many questions. I can’t forget that. My stomach suddenly stings, and the bite mark on my neck aches.

I can’t forget what’s happening in _my_ real life, and it sure as hell ain’t a comedy.

“I wish we saw each other more. It feels like it’s been weeks since I last saw you.” Her voice is sad, and her hold on me tightens the barest bit.

“I know, sorry Inoue. I’ve been really busy with work.”

In reality, I can barely keep afloat with my current income. Only Rukia knows what I went through, and what I’m going through. Chad, Renji, and Inoue are great friends, the best, but I can’t share my secret. Hell, even Rukia finding out was only by chance. I had never intended for her to know.

“I’ve just really missed you...”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The movie ends and I’m certain my arm is numb from her tight grip. Renji suggests we go to a restaurant, and Rukia elbows me in the ribs when I decline. Her eyes flicker to Inoue several times, but if she’s hinting something at me I certainly don’t understand it.

“I gotta go. Maybe next time guys,” I say regrettably with a wave. It’s gotten late, and I have work tomorrow.

“Goodbye Kurosaki-kun.” Inoue’s arms wrap around my torso and her head rests on my chest. I stand there awkwardly and Rukia is giving me a look like I’m the devil. At this point I’m tired of her vague signals so I don’t give a fuck.

I don’t know if they end up eating out or if my departure ruined it. I hope they went out just because they’d all seemed to be looking forward to it. I don’t want to be the shitty person who ruins my friends’ fun.

I’ve been walking to my apartment for a few minutes when I hear loud footsteps behind me. Fear slices through me. My shoes spin and I face the darkness, my hand grasping the knife in my pocket.

“Whoa whoa, it’s just me kid. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

My eyes adjust and I realize who it is. His hands are held up, placating and innocent. Blue hair stands out within the surrounding shadows.

I growl in absolute annoyance, and I let go of the knife. “What the fuck are you doing here Bluebird?” This is the second time today the blue-haired man has scared the shit out of me.

I abruptly turn around and walk away, and I contemplate childishly outrunning him. He knows where I live though, so it won’t do any fucking good.

I once again note I had turned my back on him. Why do I trust him so much not to attack me from behind?

It’s funny…I _still_ don’t know his name. Even if it is Grimmjow, and he knows those 2 men who attacked me…this man seems to be someone I can trust.

He falls in line behind me, not missing a beat. “Long time no see, kid.”

“Not long enough. Not by a fucking long shot.”

“Your friends picked a good movie to see, that was fucking hilarious. It’s been a long time since I was in a movie theater.”

My eye twitched. The insinuations of that statement…fucking hell. I walk faster. As if increasing my pace would make him go away. “So you followed me?”

“Yeah, sat a few rows behind ya. You barely laughed, didn’t realize your sense of humor was so fucking bad.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Well don’t.”

We walk in silence, and all I can hear are our footsteps and the rustle of the leaves as the wind blows against them. The silence is eventually broken again by the asshole behind me.

“That girl likes ya.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Who?”

“The girl with the orange hair. Long legs. Big tits.”

My feet spin and I face him. I immediately fist my hand in his shirt collar. “Don’t talk about her like that. Just because you only care about a woman’s appearance doesn’t mean you can talk about Inoue however you please.” I toss him away like he’s tomorrow’s trash, and I turn back and keep walking. What he says is a lie anyway. Inoue and I have been nothing but friends for years. If she had liked me she would have already said so.

“Damn you’re an oblivious little shit. I wasn’t tryin’ to sexualize her, I was just speakin’ the truth. Her tits are like fuckin’ Jupiter, huge and roun—”

“ _God_ please stop.”

Graciously, surprisingly, he does. He remains two steps behind me, and from my periphery I can tell he’s vigilant, looking to the shadows and searching for signs of danger. It’s interesting to see such blatantly different sides of him.

Is he being cautious in general, or cautious of the men he remembers attacking me in the alleyway? Either way I don’t understand why he’s so damn protective about this. To _follow me_ into the movie theater. I’m just his fucking bartender.

I don’t even know why I’m letting him follow me back to my damn apartment. Maybe I’m becoming desensitized to how obnoxious he is.

“So, in all seriousness, why didn’t ya laugh that much during the movie?”

Is he curious about me on more than a superficial level? That doesn’t make any sense. I snort. “There’s no way a question like that can be ‘in seriousness,’ so your question is unanswerable.”

“I _am_ being serious.”

“Impossible.”

He mutters, “Fucking asshole.” I smirk.

We finally climb up the stairs to my apartment, and I let him in then shut the door behind him. “So there ya go, nobody attacked me, I’m all fine and fuckin’ hunky-dory. I’ll make you some coffee then you can go back to wherever you came from.”

He doesn’t say anything, and he takes his same seat on the stool in the kitchen. He watches me make the coffee.

“Do you think they’re gonna come after you again?”

He’s asked me that before, I think. I pour the coffee into two cups. “Regardless of the answer I don’t need you to protect me. I can protect myself fine.”

“Oh yeah? Remind me again what happened the last time I caught you in trouble?”

I grit my teeth. “That was different.”

“How so?”

“I wasn’t _ready._ But I am now. I’ll be fucking fine.”

The blue-haired man scoffs. “Fucking delusional.”

“Fuck you.”

There’s a knock on the door, and for a moment a sliver of fear jolts through me. What time is it? 10, maybe 11pm? Too fucking late for a visitor. The warmth of the knife in my pocket reassures me, and I walk cautiously to the door. The blue-haired man is quickly standing and also inching toward the door. He doesn’t walk in front of me, but instead remains directly beside me.

I open the door to reveal a 5’2” old woman. It’s Ms. Etta, my neighbor.

She passes by me and ushers herself into the room. “Ooooo, Ichi, I thought I heard you with a boy! And it’s your same blue-haired friend too.” She walks up to him and shakes both his hands. Next to him she looks like a small bug dwarfed by a blue panther.

“Ms. Etta please, it’s not what you think at all!” Damn it the sneaky woman just waltzed her way into my apartment. I reluctantly shut the door and stand beside her.

She’s digging through the pocket in her too-big floral dress. “Ichi, do you mind if I take a picture?”

I sputter wide-eyed, “ _What?_ A picture of _what?!”_

She pulls out her flip phone. “You and your friend. Share a kiss for the camera.” She grabs my hand and tries to pull me toward the blue-haired man. I don’t budge even an inch.

“There’s no way in hell—”

Suddenly all I see is tan and blue and my lips are engulfed in heat. I hear Ms. Etta’s squeals of delight, and I still don’t understand what’s happening.

I’m trying to breathe but I can’t breathe through my mouth. My mouth is obstructed.

Oh my god. This blue-haired bastard is fucking kissing me.

When comprehension finally hits me I push him back and punch him in the face. The blue-haired man howls, and Ms. Etta cries out, “No Ichi, don’t hurt your lover like that! How could you!”

“He ain’t my fucking lover!” I grab Ms. Etta’s frail hand as gently as my anger will allow, and I open the door and figuratively kick her out. “It was nice seeing you Ms. Etta, goodbye!” I slam the door behind her.

“What the fuck is your problem Bluebird?”

 _Pissed_ is an understatement. I am _infuriated._

The blue-haired man is calm and already smoking a cigarette. “She was so excited. I thought it’d be nice to recreate her fantasy.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” I touch my fingers to my lips, almost wondering if the last two minutes of my life _were_ a fantasy.

I have never been in a romantic relationship. Any kiss I have shared with another in the past was forced and unwanted.

While this kiss was clearly… _also_ obtained by force…

I feel my lips again. They feel hot to the touch, almost to the point I take my hand away for fear of being burned.

My ignorance was snatched away years ago. And I’m left wondering…is that what a typical kiss is supposed to be like?

It makes no sense for that simple, short kiss to affect me so damn much. I furiously wipe my palm across my lips as if it would eliminate the weird, hot, tingly feeling. It doesn’t.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” I mutter, and the blue-haired man shrugs and continues watching me. It felt like his gaze was on me the whole time, as if analyzing my reaction. Fucking _why?_ What a fucking asshole.

I go back to the coffeepot, checking the time as I do so. I grumble, “I’m surprised Ms. Etta was even awake. It’s too fucking late for an old fart like her to be awake.” I hand one of the coffee cups to Bluebird.

“She seems interested in your love life. Wouldn’t be surprised if she was intentionally listenin’ so she could barge in.”

I grimace. “God don’t say that.”

He cackles. “Truth’s a bitch.”

“I will throw my coffee onto your face.”

“Your coffee or your cum?”

My cheeks burn red. Fucking hell let me kill this man.

“Finish your goddamn coffee so you can leave.”

“I don’t wanna leave Ichi.”

“My name ain’t Ichi!”

“That’s what your cute neighbor called you, _and_ that’s what the blond creepy customer at the bar called you. Your fucking name is Ichi.”

I heave a deep sigh, cursing the world. It’s true, he heard both Shinji and Ms. Etta refer to me as Ichi.

I need a cigarette.

I finally say, “My name is Ichigo.” This fucking guy has gotten a kiss and my name in one night. He’s truly like no one I’ve ever met before.

I grit my teeth. Not in a fucking good way.

“Ichigo…?” The blue-haired man’s eyes are squinted in thought. He puts his coffee cup down and rests his elbows on the counter. “Ichigo…I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

Suddenly I’m worried he’ll link my name to my prostitution. Or to my captivity by the yakuza bastards Lank and Thick…Nnoitra and Yammy.

He knows Yammy, he has obviously heard my name in passing about how I’m a good lay.

Fuck. This is too convoluted.

Suddenly I’m tired of it being a mystery. I’m tired of being paranoid about something that may or may not be true. Time to rip the bandaid off and hope I don’t start pouring blood once the damage is revealed.

I too place my coffee on the counter. I ask bluntly, maintaining eye contact with him, “Bluebird…is your name Grimmjow?”

His blue eyes widen. “How…Where did you hear that?”

“Is it?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep drag of his cig. “Yeah. Yeah it is. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.”

The breath I’d been holding in flows out slowly, deliberately. The gravity that once felt weightless is now crushing down on my spine. This man is Grimmjow. Grimmjow, who Lank and Thick personally know. Lank and Thick, who are members of the yakuza and have sold my body for profit. I had been fucking the boring, average, nameless man when the yakuza bust down the door. The nameless man was shot in the head, his memory wiped and life destroyed. All the while I was taken as a prize in exchange, and his debt was miraculously wiped clean.

But, I was trapped in that room for weeks, maybe even months...Handcuffed, barely fed and to be fair, barely alive. I had wanted so badly for someone to just finish me off and kill me…

“…Kid… _Kid?”_

I was lost in a dream, lost in a nightmare. This man is Grimmjow, friends with the yakuza. Hell, he could be yakuza himself. Maybe Grimmjow even fucked me during the times I was blindfolded or had a bag over my head. He probably wouldn’t recognize my voice either way. I couldn’t scream because of the dirty sock shoved in my mouth. It had stayed in my mouth so long when I was finally set free I could taste the residual filth of it for days.

And of course the balled up sock had been my own doing. The first cock that was forced into my mouth got bitten off. I still remember the taste of it, the blood spewing from my mouth, and the bones they broke on my body as punishment. My left elbow still cracks every time I bend it because of shredding pain that had burst through it all those years ago. But, I was blindfolded, I still don’t even know what the cause was. Was it a guy’s boot stepping on me, was it a baseball bat, was it a fucking piece of furniture that crushed me?

I hold a shaky hand to my head, but I’m barely even aware of the movement. I’ve only seen this man Grimmjow be a slut for women, but a hole is a hole, right? And I assume he still has a penis, he’s a slut because he _can_ have sex, so I’m sure I didn’t bite his dick off but who knows, maybe he fucked me and I didn’t even know—.

“…igo? ICHIGO?”

A thunder of noise follows and the nightmare is shattered. Things fall into place like pieces of a really, really fucked up puzzle. My head flies up to meet the voice. Grimmjow is staring at me as though I was a loved one he was watching fall into a pit of burning lava. He had moved from behind the kitchen counter to stand directly in front of me. On the floor is a large cooking pan, still barely echoing on the tile floor. I assume he had thrown it to throw me out of my reverie. I’m surprised but oddly appreciative. He didn’t grab me or touch me.

Grimmjow often acted calloused and uncaring, but…that was perceptive of him.

Now is not the time for revelations though. I force my voice not to crack. “It’s time for you to leave.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck Strawberry? Stop kicking me out!”

“I don’t want you in my apartment.”

“Does this have to do with my name? What are you worried about? What’s going on?”

I need a shower. Hot, scalding hot. Hot enough to make my skin burn until it peels off. Maybe it can be so hot it burns through skin and muscle and bone.

“It has nothing to do with that. It’s late, Ms. Etta will get suspicious.”

“She already thinks we’re fucking!”

“Well no need to fuel her fire.” I push him, but he doesn’t move. His chest is broad and puffed out and his eyes stare into mine like he’s trying to read my secrets.

“I don’t understand, kid.” And it sounds like he is genuinely trying to.

I turn my head, avoiding his soulful gaze.

He sighs deeply. I can tell he’s still reluctant.

He finally asks, “When do you work?”

For the barest second I think he’s asking about my prostitution. Me whoring myself out on the streets for money. Me getting on my knees for my john, hoping he’ll be a quick cum before my legs start to cramp. That shows me just how fucking muddled my thoughts are tonight.

“Tomorrow…I work tomorrow.” As a bartender. A regular, average-joe bartender.

Our bodies feel close, too close. The blue-haired man—Grimmjow—is staring at my lips. But he doesn’t move, he just looks at me, unblinking.

Just when I think he’s going to lean forward, he suddenly straightens, spins on his heel and strides away. He waves without turning around. “See you then kid.” There was the faintest tremor, and I wondered why.

The door slams behind him, and it seems to knock me out of my trance. Did we almost…was that…?

But it doesn’t matter. I sink to the floor. I clutch my head with both my hands. I’m confused. So confused. Is Grimmjow like Lank and Thick? Do I trust him? Should I? What does he think about _me?_

If Grimmjow is like those two horny rapist bastards…I don’t know what I’m going to do.

**XxXxXxX**

**The first scene next chapter is in Grimmjow’s POV! I wonder how he feels about a few of the revelations that have happened thus far? Still many questions left unanswered though I think. So exciting :D**


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